Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I'm Stuck as Their Baby!-Chapter 106: A Very Poor Decision

The moment the first tendrils of shadow coiled around their daughter and pulled her into the void, two things happened simultaneously somewhere in the sky, thunder cracked with unnatural violence, and two very angry women turned their gazes toward the mortal plane with murderous intent.

There are many things you can do in this world poke sleeping dragons, spit into a storm, insult a queen in her own court but kidnapping Elyzara Thorne was not one of them. It was, as fate would have it, a very poor decision.

The sky above the Academy trembled.

A rupture tore through the clouds like claws rending silk, and from the bleeding seams stepped two women.

The first, cloaked in violet shadows and embers that danced like fireflies made of blood, wore her rage like a crown. Her heels struck the courtyard stones like war drums, her long coat billowing as though it, too, was hunting someone. This was Sylvithra Thorne Warlady, mother, and recently dethroned champion of "Most Likely to Eviscerate a Room for Touching Her Kid."

Beside her, eyes glowing with celestial fury, Verania Thorne moved like the storm she was named after. Elegant in a way that suggested she might murder you with grace and then apologize for the mess, she radiated authority. The very air bent politely around her, unsure whether to flee or bow.

Neither woman spoke as they arrived because words were for people who still had patience.

Students and staff scattered like startled doves, some diving behind walls, others pretending to be shrubbery. No one was fooled.

In the center of the courtyard lay two familiar figures Mara and Elira. Their injuries were grievous, but they were breathing.

Verania dropped to her knees beside them without hesitation. A radiant light burst from her palms, golden threads of magic weaving instantly into their wounds, knitting flesh and bone like she was mending a favorite coat, not saving lives.

Sylvithra hovered close, scanning the courtyard with sharp, hawk-like precision. Her nostrils flared.

"Blood," she muttered. "Too much of it. Hers is among it."

Verania didn't look up, but her magic faltered for the briefest moment. "Where is she?"

No answer came.

A boy with a bruised face and panic in his eyes stumbled toward them. "Riven," Verania said sharply, recognizing him.

He froze.

"Where. Is. Elyzara."

"She—she was taken," Riven choked, eyes wide, voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. "Shadows. A man. He was too strong. We tried—we couldn't—"

The rest was lost in a choked sob.

Verania's face darkened like dusk swallowing day. Her hands never stopped moving, but her voice was as sharp as a blade dipped in poison. "Taken?"

"She fought him. She almost won. But he was waiting for her to lose control."

Sylvithra swore. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't even in a mortal language. The stones under her feet cracked from the resonance.

Mara stirred faintly, whispering something.

Verania leaned closer. "Don't speak, rest."

But Mara's fingers closed weakly around her wrist. "She saved us. Don't blame her."

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"We don't blame her," Sylvithra growled. "We blame whoever thought they could lay a hand on our daughter and walk away breathing."

The moment the words left her mouth, a slow, tentative voice interrupted—

"Well. I see... we've received… esteemed guests."

Every head in the courtyard turned.

The Headmistress of Velmoria's Academy stood at the edge of the gathering, resplendent in her silver-threaded robes, flanked by guards who looked like they very much wanted to be elsewhere.

Sylvithra's eyes narrowed.

Verania stood slowly.

The guards took a discreet step back.

"Well," Sylvithra said silkily. "Look who finally decided to show up. Tell me, Headmistress—were you polishing your fingernails while my daughter was screaming?"

The woman smiled stiffly. "Security measures were in place—"

Verania grabbed her by the collar.

It was not a metaphor. Her fingers closed like a vice around the pristine silk, yanking the Headmistress so close their noses nearly touched.

"There are two broken girls on the ground," she said softly. "There is a missing princess, and you are telling me about measures?"

"I—I assure you—" the Headmistress stammered, voice pitching upward. "We did not anticipate such an attack. The wards were compromised—"

"Oh," Sylvithra interrupted sweetly, drawing a dagger from her sleeve and spinning it lazily between her fingers, "someone is going to be compromised in a minute."

"Who took her?" Verania demanded.

"I—I don't know—"

"Wrong answer," Sylvithra said, flipping the blade into her palm with a snap. "Try again. Who. Took. Her?"

The Headmistress shook her head violently. "We don't know! The attack was too fast, too calculated. They bypassed all our defenses—"

"Then what is the point of this academy?" Verania snapped. "Expensive tuition? Dormitory fires? Occasional torture by eldritch shadow men?"

"We—We're investigating," the woman whimpered.

"Oh. An investigation." Sylvithra turned to Verania, mock surprise written across her face. "Darling, they're investigating. That's all right, then. We'll just wait politely while our daughter is dragged into the abyss by strangers with unresolved trauma."

"Sylvithra."

"What?" She gestured dramatically. "I'm being reasonable. I haven't murdered anyone. Yet."

Riven coughed. "There was... something strange about the magic they used. It wasn't demonic, celestial, or human. It felt... ancient."

Both mothers went still.

Verania turned toward him, expression shifting from fury to focus. "Ancient?"

"Like it didn't belong to any realm."

Sylvithra's eyes narrowed. "Outsiders?"

"Possibly," Verania murmured. "Or worse. Something that's been waiting."

The Headmistress tried again. "We have no confirmed identity. There were no emblems, no traceable magical signature—"

"Let me stop you right there," Sylvithra said, stepping forward. "You ran an elite academy, trained our daughter, charged us a small kingdom's ransom every semester... and now, when she's missing, your contribution is shrugging?"

"I—I am doing my best."

Verania's voice dropped low. "Then your best is useless."

The woman trembled.

Verania turned away from her without another word, crouching once more beside Mara and Elira. She whispered something too soft to hear. Light sparked faintly around the girls again, and slowly very slowly their shallow breaths grew stronger.

Sylvithra was still glaring at the Headmistress. "You have two hours," she said flatly.

"For...?"

"Information," Verania said, rising. "A lead. A scent. Anything."

"And if not?" the Headmistress whispered.

Sylvithra smiled. It was the kind of smile that made gods nervous. "Then I level this place and use your bones to build a new school."

As the two women turned, the air crackled behind them.